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May 25, 1997
The wind howled in Harry’s ear as he leaned forwards on his broom, the rush of speed setting his heart pounding. The pitch stretched beneath him, bright green with the color of spring. The stands were filled with red and green, alight with energy as the students cheered for their team.
It was the final game of the season, Slytherin v. Gryffindor, and the air crackled with tension. Harry’s eyes swept the pitch, every muscle perfectly attuned to the chase.
Down below, movement caught his attention. Urquhart, the new Slytherin captain, yanked the bat out of Goyle’s hand, swinging cruelly at a bludger. The iron ball flew through the air towards Ron, who barely dodged it.
That can’t be legal, can it?
Sure enough, Hooch’s whistle shrilled. Urquhart lobbed the bat back to Goyle, and flew down with a sneer. Serves the git right. Hooch called Harry down as well, to ask if he wanted to call the foul.
As he touched the ground, he was greeted by Urquhart’s sneer.
“Aww, poor won-won. He can’t handle a rogue bludger?” Urquhart leered.
“We both know that bludger was far from rogue,” Harry answered. He faced Madam Hooch, holding up two fingers.
The rest of the team, apparently watching for his signal, cheered.
It seemed to have no impact on the Slytherin, Urquhart’s smirk staying strong as if fouls were a part of his strategy.
After a quick foul throw, the game was back on. The score stood at eighty-fifty to Gryffindor— enough of a lead for the snitch to win them the cup, so Harry returned his focus to the pitch, searching for the telltale glint of gold. A flash of blond hair caught his vision, and Harry whipped his head around, coming face to face with a smirking Malfoy.
“What is it, Potter? Seen something?” Malfoy’s voice carried easily on the wind, taunting.
“Like I’d tell you, Malfoy,” Harry shot back. “What, can’t find the snitch? Guess buying a spot on the team doesn’t come with skill.”
The blond’s eyes sharpened, the challenge sparking a flame. “You wish I'd bought my way on. Scared I’m gonna beat you, Potty?” Harry rolled his eyes at the childish nickname.
Although he hated to admit it, Malfoy was actually a decent seeker. He was graceful in the air, his blond hair flying in the breeze, leaning over his broom… Harry’s heart skipped a beat, and he shook his head to clear the thoughts. He suddenly whipped his head over to the stands, as if seeing the snitch.
Malfoy fell for it instantly, spinning around to find the nonexistent glint. As the blond boy whirled around, Harry sprinted off in the other direction. Behind him, he heard a muttered curse as Malfoy quickly tried to change direction. Grinning, Harry returned to his searching.
###
Bloody Potter.
Draco’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he returned to circling the pitch, slightly above Gryffindor's infuriating seeker. He could almost hear the crowd jeering.
Can’t believe I fell for that again. Bloody git.
Contrary to popular belief, Draco had not bought his way onto the team, nor had he used the influence of his father. He got on for his skill alone— Cassius Warrington, the captain in Draco’s second year, had made sure of that. Draco would have preferred the last chaser spot, but all of the seekers who tried out were laughably inept. It was a surprise some of them had even stayed on their brooms, let alone actually caught the snitch. Someone had to fill the spot, and he was the obvious choice.
A sudden burst of laughter thundered through the stands, punctuated by drawn-out “aaaw”s and even a few delighted catcalls. The Merlin-damned Match Charm shimmered into view, the projection focusing around two red-faced Hufflepuffs squirming under the weight of the school’s attention.
Draco rolled his eyes and looked away, continuing to circle the pitch, searching for the telltale glint of gold.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Potter tense. The dark-haired boy paused midair, stopping the broom with half a thought. His posture changed, shoulders squaring and back straightening. He was dishevelled as ever, but there was something about him— focused, commanding, sharp— like he was born for the air. He wasn’t just playing— he was dominating the sky itself. He became confident, commanding the attention of anyone who looked at him. Whereas normally he seemed weighed down by responsibilities, in the air he was transformed— focused, commanding, impossible to ignore. The image of Harry Potter, in full quidditch uniform, on a broom… That was enough to distract anyone.
Potter suddenly started forwards, glancing back to see if Draco was watching. Draco quickly whipped his head around, pretending not to have seen. Slowly, he turned his head back towards Potter, only to see him halfway across the pitch, chasing a tiny golden glint.
Not this time.
Draco took off after him, leaning forwards— almost flush with his broom. The wind whipped through his hair, messing up Pansy’s efforts to make him presentable.
Well, when in quidditch…
Turning his mind back to the chase, he leaned forwards even further, urging the broom on. Potter switched to a sharp dive, accelerating at frankly terrifying levels. Draco did his best to follow, although he did not have quite the death wish that Potter seemed to have. No. All he had to do was survive— survive Hogwarts, survive Potter, survive the mess that was his family. Only one more year. One more year of pretending he was the perfect Death Eater brat. One more year of forcing himself to be an arse to Po— to everyone who wasn’t the child of a supporter. One more year, then he could access the Malfoy family vaults and be home free.
His arm itched, as if trying to convince him that no one could ever accept him, that he was better off being a slave to the Dark Lord with his father.
No. One more year.
As he was thinking, the snitch was getting closer and closer to the ground. Draco eventually pulled out, knowing that he could not go any further without crashing. Potter— Potter kept going.
Draco’s heart seized, his breath catching in his throat as the dark-haired boy got closer and closer to the ground. Instinctively, he reached for his wand before he caught himself. What in Merlin's name was he going to do? Helping Harry Potter would be suicidal. His arm itched, reminding him what would happen if he let his mask slip.
Potter dove like a madman, flush with his broom, the ground getting closer and closer. Five metres, four metres, three… any closer and there would be no way to pull up— but no. Potter kept. Bloody. Going. Draco saw him close his hand around the snitch just before he hit the ground, and the arse leapt off of his bloody broom, diving to the ground with a roll. His broom immediately stopped, and without a wizard on it, it slowly drifted to the ground.
Draco quickly schooled his features, which had become tense with fear, back into the familiar cold mask.
One more year. One more year of forced animosity.
Draco braced himself as he stepped back onto the pitch, knowing that the Match Charm would now be focusing on players as well. It was a projection in the air, enchanted to focus on the pair with the most chemistry and wouldn’t move until they kissed— and there was no way Draco would let himself be caught up in its view. Unfortunately, no one could figure out how to deactivate it, and it was still running. No one at Hogwarts could help— it was created before the current students’ time. No one knew who made it, although at the bottom corner of the projection, there was a small signature. The Marauders.
###
As Harry leapt off his broom, the roaring of the crowd washed over him. He pumped his fist triumphantly in the air, holding the now still snitch in his fingers. Gryffindor had won, 90–220. Apparently, during his chase, Katie, Ginny, and Demelza had scored a few more points.
“HARRY POTTER!” McGonagall’s shout cut across the pitch like a crack of thunder. Harry winced. It was either going to be a berating for his reckless stunt or a congratulation for catching the snitch. He was hoping for the second, knowing how much she loves quidditch, but seeing as she was also his unofficial godmother, well… Anything could happen.
She marched over. “That was the most idiotic, reckless stunt I have ever seen in my forty years of teaching!” The second option, then. “You could have broken your neck— no, you very nearly did! What in Merlin’s name possessed you to risk your life like that?!”
Harry rubbed his neck, still panting, the snitch grasped firmly in his hand. “Er— Sorry, professor,” He said with a wince. “Thought I’d try something new— bit risky, yeah, but—” He lifted the snitch. “— it worked?”
Her eyes narrowed between her spectacles, but her mouth twitched, betraying her. The stern mask cracked for a fraction of a second, revealing something that looked like pride. It warmed Harry’s heart. “Yes, it did,” She conceded. “Congratulations, Potter. You just won us the quidditch cup.” Her lips twitched into the faint outline of a smile. “Again.” She walked off to join the other professors, leaving Harry’s heart warm with joy.
Harry returned his focus to the rest of his team. Ron, swooping down from his position in front of the hoops, tackled him to the ground.
“That was bloody brilliant, mate— it was also the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen you do, and I’ve seen you duel a basilisk.” He paused, solemn face giving way once more to the elation of winning the cup. “Did you see the look on Malfoy's face? He looked like he was having a seizure! Brilliant” Shaking his head, Ron walked off to the rest of the team, patting Harry on the back.
Harry started after him, but was interrupted by Hermione, her dark hair flying behind her as she cut across the field towards him.
“Hi, ‘mione.” Harry thought he’d get ahead of her inevitable berating. “McGonagall already gave me a talking-to, don’t need another.”
She frowned. “Don’t think approval from McGonagall excuses you. She favors you, and quidditch even more. You can’t keep throwing yourself into trouble— one of these days there won’t be a snitch at the end.” At this grave remark, her frown softened, and she grinned. “Still… that dive wasn’t just reckless, it was controlled. I don’t pretend to understand quidditch, but you’re not just lucky. You’re good.” At this, she strode off to join Ron with the rest of the team. Harry quickly followed her, not wanting to get berated again.
As soon as he joined the group, he was tackled on all sides from the rest of the team. Ginny reached up and punched him in the arm with a glare, but then wrapped him into a hug.
“Brilliant, Harry. Bloody terrifying. But Merlin, it worked.” He smiled at the redhead, then smirked.
“Where’s Luna? Haven’t gone off to meet your girlfriend yet?” He teased.
Ginny blushed ferociously. “She’s off somewhere, said the nargles were trying to lead her somewhere. I was about to go find her,” she said, already starting to leave. “See you in the common room!”
Harry chuckled, looking around to see if he could find Luna. There— she was standing in the middle of the pitch, looking up at the projection of the Match Charm.
Huh. Strange, but then again, to be Luna is to be strange, he thought fondly. Now focused on the projection, he saw it focus on Ginny, who had found her girlfriend. Luna pointed up, and Ginny blushed. She grabbed Luna by her robes, and pulled her up into a passionate kiss. Its job done, the Match Charm slowly faded out of view again.
“Eurgh, now that’s burned into my eyes,” Ron groaned, covering his face. “Not something you want to see— your sister kissing her girlfriend.” He shuddered again, lowering his hands. “Oh good, they’re done.”
Harry laughed. “Ron, grow up. They’re fifteen, for Merlin's sake.”
Ron groaned. “Yeah, but still.” He looked up at the spot where the Match Charm is projected, and sighed with relief that it was turned off. “Can’t believe the professors haven’t figured out how to get rid of it. The Marauders, right? They’re the same people who made the map. Wonder who they are. Any ideas? They must have been master pranksters.”
Harry smirked. Of course he knew who they were— messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, and, of course, James Potter. His dad’s lot. Sirius— Harry’s heart panged. He shoved down the grief, refusing to let it corrupt this victorious day.
“No idea, mate,” he said lightly.
“Wish I knew. The leverage I would have over the twins…” He sighed wistfully. “Anyways, we’re planning a send-off in the common room tonight for Katie. You coming?”
“‘Course,” He replied as the team drifted over to the Slytherins. “I can’t believe we’re going into seventh year. It’s almost an entirely new team from when I started.” Harry sighed. “Well, nothing lasts forever.”
The two teams converged, acknowledging the satisfaction of a game well played. Harry stepped forwards to meet his adversary. Malfoy’s blond hair fluttered in the breeze, his face frustratingly composed. He had a slight sheen on his face, but that was the only evidence that he had just been on a broom for hours— compared to Harry’s wild hair and sweat-soaked shirt. No, somehow Malfoy still looked like he had stepped straight out of a portrait. As much as it pained him to admit it, Malfoy was beautiful. His eyes pierced through Harry’s mind, breaking down his defences.
“Malfoy,” Harry said.
“Potter.”
As their hands met, he felt a shift in the magic of the pitch. It was the same hum that accompanied the Match Charm.
Oh no. No no no. Not me. Please, not me.
But his praying was all for naught, as the projection swung decisively towards the center of the pitch.
Oh bloody hell.
###
Potter’s face drained of color, then flushed fiercely. He was staring up over Malfoy’s shoulder, looking at something in the sky.
No. Merlin, please. Only one more year…
As Draco whipped his head around, he caught sight of the Match Charm hanging high in the sky. Caught in its focus was him… And Potter. Oh Bloody Hell. Malfoy felt his face flush, a sudden burst of attraction breaking through his shields. He turned his focus back to the dark-haired boy in front of him. Harry Potter after a quidditch match was… something else. Sure, his hair stuck up in at least seven different directions and his shirt was soaked through, but there was something about him… His face was flushed with satisfaction, his eyes still alight with the thrill of the chase. And as of right then, his face was flushed with more than just satisfaction, and his eyes, while still filled with adrenaline, were also dark with something close to… no. As if Harry bloody Potter could ever look at him that way. The masks that he had to wear, the way he had always treated the dark-haired boy…
But no. Draco knew that look. It was the same one mirrored in his gaze. Eyes dark with desire— no, it was more than that. It was yearning, as if his core had been drawn to Potter’s, as if they were two planets on course for collision.
Potter started to stutter, still blushing ferociously. “I— uh—”
Draco rolled his eyes, damning it all to hell. Reaching down, he fisted the dark-haired boy’s quidditch robes in one hand and slid his other hand behind Potter’s neck, yanking him up to meet his lips in a searing kiss.
The world faded away, the sounds quieting— the roaring of the stands, the cheering of Harry’s teammates, the delighted cackling of Pansy and Blaise. His mind zeroed in on the soft press of Harry’s lips on his own, the taste of smoke and cedar. It shouldn’t have been so enticing— it shouldn’t have drawn him in, made him long for more. It shouldn’t have sent lightning down his spine, made his skin tingle with arousal.
And yet it did. He pulled Harry closer, pressing his body against the dark-haired boy’s, deepening the kiss.
Fuck. I’m not going to be able to get enough of this— of him.
Draco slowly pulled away, letting out a soft chuckle at how Harry chased his lips. The dark-haired boy’s eyes were lined with confusion, making Draco smirk.
Leaning in, he whispered in Harry’s ear, “Room of Requirement. Ten past curfew.” Harry shuddered at the breath on his ear, before his eyes grew darker and he nodded.
“See you then, Draco.” His name on the green-eyed boy’s lips set Draco’s heart pounding, longing for more.
He made his way over to his teammates— most of which looked bewildered— but before he reached them, he was tackled by Pansy. Looking over at the direction she came from, he saw Blaise, his uniform impeccable as always.
Pansy cackled, mussing his hair. “Took you long enough! Maybe now the common room won’t be filled with ‘Harry Potter this and Harry Potter that’. We can try to grill Blaise about his secret boyfriend,” she said, casting a sly look Blaise’s way.
He rolled his eyes, before striding off to the Gryffindors, where the Weasley twins had joined the festivities, shooting off fireworks. Apparently outside spectators were still allowed, ignoring the Dark Lord still at large.
Bloody Dumbledore. Always meandering on about the safety of his students, while he allows shite like this.
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted as Blaise reached the team.
What is he doing?
Blaise strode over to the source of the fireworks, his gait lined with purpose. He reached one of the twins— the taller one, probably George— and pulled him up into a kiss.
Draco looked over at Pansy, sure his eyes were deceiving him, but she looked just as shell-shocked as he felt.
What?!
Blaise released the twin from his kiss, muttering something that made the red-head’s face flush brighter than his hair.
He strode back over to where his stunned housemates were standing, his lips turned up.
“Couldn’t let you have all the fun, could I?”
May 20, 1978
James Potter adjusted the strap of his gloves in the quidditch locker rooms, preparing for their final game against Slytherin. It was a bright spring day, but it would soon become sweltering, playing under the sun for hours. He readjusted his captain badge on his uniform, wearing it proudly.
Sirius Black came up behind him, ruffling his hair.
“Ready, mate?” He said jovially. Sirius had been in an annoyingly cheerful mood since Remus had finally asked him out.
Only took years of pining for him to get his head out of his arse and realize Sirius is the most queer fucker anyone has ever met, he thought wryly. Sirius’s long hair was flying around his head as he tackled James.
“Yeah.” Forcing a grin onto his face, he continued. “Ready to go whoop their arses?” Sirius raised an eyebrow at the obviously melancholy mood.
Since he knew James as well as he did himself, he immediately caught on to the problem. “Maybe your mystery boy will finally ask you out,” He said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
If only he knew.
Regulus Black. Slytherin. Captain of his team. Seeker. Sirius’s little brother. Somehow, the object of James’s obsessions for the past year. Despite the cold ice prince mask he wore, James knew there was more to Regulus than met the eye. It was in the way his face let loose bursts of emotion when he was antagonizing him, the way he would lean forwards when the professor said something interesting. It was in the way his eyes flashed when he saw someone bullying one of his house mates. James knew there was something under that mask. Something full of emotion, something more than an ice prince.
James smirked, turning his attention back to Sirius. “You never know.” Sirius let loose a bark of laughter, patting James on the back as he turned to the rest of the team.
“Alright, team! Let’s go whoop some Slytherins!” James walked up behind him, cuffing him on the back of the head.
“Who’s the captain here, Pads? Remind me.” Sirius smirked, an evil glint in his eye.
“Let me present His Majesty, the captain of our team, James Fleamont Potter!” He turned and bowed, grinning all the while.
James sighed fondly. “Sirius, move out of the way.”
“Of course, your majesty,” He said, bowing deeper.
Turning his head back to the rest of the team, he clapped his hands together. “Alright. Does everyone remember the strategy we went over?”
“No, we only went over it a hundred bloody times, James,” Marlene said, smirking.
He shook his head. “I know, Marlene, we practiced a lot. Gonna go cry about it?”
“You wish.”
Rolling his eyes, he turned back to the rest of the team. Raising an eyebrow, he heard a choroused, “Yes.”
He grinned. “Alright! As long as we stick to that, hopefully the match won’t run for more than seven hours.” They all groaned, remembering the last match. It had run for almost 20 hours— it had been dark when the game was won by pure luck.
By the end, everyone was exhausted, but Gryffindor secured the quidditch cup for the first time in years. James still swore he saw tears in McGonagall’s eyes, much to her chagrin.
“I want a clean game from all of you. No funny business. Yes, Sirius, you too.”
Sirius snickered. “Siriusly? Really channeling your inner Madam Hooch, there, Prongs.”
He sighed. “Yes, Sirius. No. Fouls. McGonagall will kick my arse if any of you screw up.” He grinned. “On a brighter note, we have all of our players.” He cast a quick tempus charm, checking how long they had. Looking at Phoebe Dawson, their seeker, he gave her a nod. “Ready?”
Her lips twitched into a smile. “You know it.”
“Alright! Let’s head out.” He turned, leading them up the stairs and onto the pitch, to the roaring of the crowd.
###
Regulus Black was ready. He was determined to win, determined to beat James Potter.
Bloody Potter. Thinks he’s so good. Just you wait, Potter. Just you wait, he thought with a smirk.
He was facing his team in the Slytherin changing rooms, adjusting the captain badge on his robes.
“Alright. Cassius, Nicolai, I want you on offense. We have the advantage here, you have both strength and agility. Keep the bludgers away from us as well. Focus on Potter and Dawson— they are the two strongest players, but if you see an opening, take it. Evan, Barty, and Severus— team plays. Atticus, keep most of your attention on Potter. He’s the one who scores most of the goals, but don’t forget about the other two. Remember what it means to be a Slytherin. Do whatever it takes to win— within the rules. I don’t want fouls from any of you. Let’s show the Gryffindors what happens when you try to take the cup from a Slytherin!” The team cheered. Evan and Barty turned to each other and shoved their faces together, much to the dismay of their team.
There was a chorus of groans, accompanied by a shout, “Oi! Let’s keep it family friendly!" from Nicolai.
Atticus let out a burst of laughter. “Like you can talk! Who was that you were caught in the hallways with, Nicolai? Flora Greengrass, wasn’t it? I heard you were caught snogging in the middle of the Charms corridor— by McGonagall!” The team burst into laughter.
Regulus shook his head, amused by the antics of his team. “Alright! Let’s head out!”
They lined up to head onto the pitch; first the beaters— Cassius Avery and Nicolai Mulciber; then the chasers— Evan Rosier, Barty Crouch, and Severus Snape; then the keeper— Atticus Nott; and finally, the Seeker— Regulus himself.
They ran onto the field, greeted by the cheering— and heckling— of the crowd.
They fanned out into their starting positions, matching up with the Gryffindor team. Regulus turned to his teammates, giving them a sharp nod. “Let’s win this.”
He turned back to his competition, surveying them. Phoebe Dawson, the Gryffindor seeker, was standing tall directly opposite Regulus. Giving her a nod, he scanned the other teammates. First were the beaters; Arthur Browne and John Bell. They were both built slim, as if a strong gust of wind could blow them over, but they were very agile in the air and could wield the bats well. Next was the seeker standing in front of him. She was also smaller, and had great agility. However, Regulus also had these— to a greater extent. He wasn’t too worried about his chances there. Next was the keeper, Sirius. As he caught his brother’s gaze, Sirius gave him a wink, before dramatically turning away and flipping his hair over a pierced ear.
Regulus rolled his eyes.
Ever the drama queen.
They had to pretend to hate each other— after all, Sirius had been disowned and Regulus was the new heir to the Black family. He was so close to being able to leave his family— except for Sirius— behind for good. His birthday was in less than a week, and he was hoping to go out with a bang. His thoughts slid to the captain of the Gryffindor team.
Maybe kissing a Gryffindor will do it, he thought. His mind was filled with images of dark skin and unruly hair, of a lean form in a red and gold quidditch uniform.
No. No, no, no. Not right now. Not until I have access to the vaults.
Finally, in the lineup, were the chasers— Geoffery Fawley, Marlene McKinnon… and James Potter.
He stepped forwards to shake hands with his counterpart, avoiding the other captain’s eyes.
Potter’s hand was warm— comforting, his tan skin almost glowing in stark contrast to Regulus’s pale hands. He risked a glance up, and his gaze was immediately caught by a pair of stunning hazel eyes. His pulse fluttered, his lungs malfunctioning.
James Potter grinned at him, his face lighting up. “Good luck, captain,” he said, laughter lining his voice.
His lips turned up, but he quickly turned it into a sneer.
Not yet.
“Good luck,” he replied, cocking an eyebrow.
They stepped back to their respective teams, clearing the way for Hooch to stride between them.
“Now, I want a nice fair game, from all of you.”
Atticus turned to him with a smirk, remembering his pre-game speech. Regulus rolled his eyes and turned back to Hooch. Across from them, Sirius was cackling at James, whose tan skin was red with a faint blush. James glared at the long-haired boy, but Sirius just laughed harder. He rolled his eyes and turned back to Hooch, his captain’s persona slipping back into place.
Hooch waved her wand at the rattling crate on the ground, releasing the bludgers and snitch. She picked up the quaffle, gesturing for the two seekers to cover their eyes to give the snitch a chance to run away. Regulus, whose eyes had been following the tiny golden glint, complied.
After a short pause, Hooch lifted the quaffle. She held it up, grabbing her whistle in her other hand.
“Gryffindor starts,” She determined, to the groans of Slytherin. She lifted the quaffle higher, raising her whistle to her mouth. “Mount your brooms.” They complied, the shuffling of fabric the only noises on the pitch. The air was thick with tension, the spectators in the stands leaning in.
“Three! Two! One!” She blew her whistle, and both teams jumped into the sky.
###
James Potter soared to the ground, his heart pounding from the game. It had lasted for almost six hours, relatively short compared to the last Gryffindor/Slytherin game they had played. It was intense— they had been within ten points for most of the game. It had ended with a chase for the snitch— the keepers getting close enough to the ground and each other to set his heart pounding. Finally— at the last moment— Regulus Black had pulled ahead, grasping the snitch only metres away from the stands. James’ heart had almost stopped as the dark-haired boy had nearly crashed into the stands, stopping moments before he would have collided.
As he reached the ground, he dismounted, walking over to the rest of his team.
Sirius grinned at him, though it was slightly subdued. “Oh well. Can’t win them all, I guess.” His gaze darkened. “Some of those snakes’ plays were hardly legal. Can’t believe Hooch let them get away with it.”
James gave a wry smile, amused by his pseudo-brother’s rivalry with the Slytherins.
“You know her. Tells us to play fair, then turns a blind eye to the fouls.” Sirius snickered.
Suddenly, the magic of the pitch shimmered, barely noticeable. He grinned.
That’ll be the match charm.
It was a Marauder creation— a projection charm in the sky, changed to focus on a pair with the most chemistry and refusing to move until they kissed. It had been James’ idea, but Sirius executed it— he was the best at charms, after all. Remus, when asked for help, had shaken his head at the idea. However, he still begrudgingly helped them, muttering about invasiveness all the while.
As it shimmered on, there was a chorus of groans from the crowd. It had only been a few games, but they had quickly figured it out. Everyone knew it was them, but they didn’t have any proof. It was harmless enough that the professors largely ignored it, though McGonagall rolled her eyes every time it shimmered into view.
James grinned, turning back to his team.
“Good game, mates. We might not have won, but we played hard. This was an incredible final game. I love you all.” His teammates cheered, enveloping him in a group hug. He mounted his broom again to take a final loop around the pitch, followed by Sirius and the other seventh years. As they launched into the air, they were joined by a few of the Slytherins, still cheering from their win. As they did their final lap, the stands were alight, screaming and cheering for the graduating seventh years. James felt his eyes tearing up, the fact that it was his last game finally sinking in. As he glanced at Sirius, the long-haired boy’s face was streaked with tears.
James let out a choked laugh. “Sentimental sap.”
Sirius grinned at him, his eyes still watery. “Like you’re any better. That speech was so cheesy, I’m surprised Peter didn’t come running.”
James let out a burst of laughter. He shook his head and turned away, looking over the stands. He finished his lap, gliding slowly to the ground.
He ran over to the younger members of his team, enveloping them in a hug.
“I love you guys. Find some good replacements— but not too good. I want you to miss me.” They laughed, hugging him back.
James turned towards the center of the pitch, walking over to where the Slytherin team was celebrating.
Sirius wrapped his arm around James’ shoulders, walking alongside him. They made their way over to the Slytherins, Sirius sobbing all the while.
He stepped forwards to shake hands with Regulus, the dark-haired boy’s face alight with the satisfaction of a game well played. James’ heart skipped a beat at his slightly ruffled appearance, Regulus’ ice prince mask slipping away.
The Match Charm shimmered again, zooming in on Sirius, who had met back up with Remus. He rolled his eyes as the werewolf bent down, pressing his lips to Sirius’. Regulus looked slightly sick, making James roll his eyes.
“Congrats. That dive was reckless— can’t believe you didn’t crash.”
Regulus smirked. “Can’t kill me off that easy. It takes more than a close brush with screaming Gryffindors to scare me off.”
James let out a soft laugh. The magic of the pitch flared again— the Match Charm once again shimmering into view.
Who’s it gonna be this time?
James’ heart skipped a beat as the projection started swinging to the center of the pitch.
What?
Turning his head back to Regulus, he saw the dark-haired boy’s gaze also firmly on the Match Charm.
The projection started narrowing in on the teams, making James’ heart skip a beat.
What if…
It narrowed in on the two captains. James’ mouth curved.
It only picks up on mutual attraction. I knew it. He isn’t the ice prince he pretends to be.
He turned back to Regulus, the dark-haired boy’s face blushed bright red. James reached out, tipping his face up to meet his eyes. Their gazes connected, sending a jolt of lightning down James’ spine. Regulus’ eyes were dark, his gaze filled with desire.
The world seemed to hush— the crowd, the wind, even Sirius’ delighted cackling— until all James could hear was the pounding of his heart. The sunlight hit Regulus’ cheekbones at an unfair angle, catching in the silver of his eyes.
He looked like every dangerous idea James had tried to suppress.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. James could see the pulse jump in Regulus’ throat, see the way his grip tightened around his broom. His own hand lifted before he could stop it, fingers brushing Regulus’ jaw, tilting his chin up.
Regulus muttered something under his breath— something that sounded suspiciously like Oh bloody hell— before his composure shattered. He fisted James’ uniform and dragged him forwards, pressing their lips together. The stands erupted in cheers, but James still barely heard it. He was too focused on the press of Regulus’ lips against his, the taste of smoke and victory, of something electric.
When they finally broke apart, Regulus’ eyes flicked open— dark, shining, and satisfied. James couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his lips, satisfaction lining every corner of his mind. Regulus smirked back, brushing off the lapels of his uniform, leaning forwards once more.
His mouth touched James’ ear, his soft breath sending tingles down his spine.
“Tonight. Transfiguration corridor.” James’ breath stuttered, arousal spiking through his body.
Regulus’ lips turned up one more time before he turned back to his team, who practically jumped on him, congratulating the dark-haired boy.
James turned back to his own team— who was grinning at him, making his cheeks flush.
Sirius barked with laughter— loud and sudden. “Took you long enough, mate!"
James felt his face flush further, much to his pseudo-brother’s delight.
“Now come on! We’ve got a party to get to.”
As they headed back to the Gryffindor common room, the kiss lingered with him, its warmth filling the corridors.
Tonight can’t come fast enough.